Page 69 of Night of the Witch
Dieter touched my cheek. “You have to start by severing from the Well. Say the spell.On this day and from this hour,”he started with a singsong lilt.“I sever here the Well’s one power—”
The spell to sever the connection to the Origin Tree and its Well, to open a witch up to wild magic.
“You remember it, don’t you, Fritzichen?” Dieter tipped his head. “Have you said it yet? No. Mama would’ve thrown you out too. Dear, perfect, obedient little sister. But it’s time to not be so obedient anymore, yes? Time to be naughty now. Sever from the Well. Take the—”
“You broke your connection to the Well?” My mind was a chaos of realizations, and I fixated on this one. “Mama—she knew?”
Dieter breaking his connection to the Well had never been a possibility. It was such an unforgivable, irredeemable thing for a witch to do, dangerous and harrowing, and it woulddestroyhim—he wouldn’t have severed from the Well. He wouldn’t have chosen wild magic.
That was why he was banished?
He wanted me to do it too. He wanted me to take a bonding potion he’d made—he’d brewed one? It was so dangerous to make, it could killme and cut off his magic entirely if he’d made it wrong. He wasn’t adept at potions. How could he trust it?
Icouldn’t trust it. Not from him. Not that look in his eyes, the desperate, hungry gleam of a man on the edge. He would connect with my magic and drain me dry.
It was absurd. No one made bonding potions anymore. It was too dangerous; all of this was too dangerous; it didn’t makesense—
“No,” I managed, throat like sand. “No, Dieter. What have you done?”
His face fell. Instantly. Fragile hope and manic need to a flat, dull fury.
“Oh, Fritzichen,” he moaned. “Don’t make me do it this way. You have to take the potionwillingly,you see. It doesn’t work if I force you. Make the better choice, sister.”
“No—Dieter, I don’t understand—”
He lunged to grab my arm again. I dove to the side, narrowly missing him, my pulse rocking through my veins as the soldiers drew closer. I could see their uniforms in the moonlight—they were hexenjägers.
Dieter wore their badge and uniform. I hadn’t noticed, under his cloak—
He reached for me again, and I took off running back for Birresborn.
“There’s no escape, Fritzichen!” he shouted after me. “You let me in! Together, you and I—this is our fate!”
Dieter stares at me, the bars between us, but oh, far more than that separates us now.
When he smiles, I have to fist my hands beneath my cloak, every bit of my focus on staying upright, on not collapsing in a mess of sobs and questions at his feet.
“Fritzichen,” Dieter says, his voice airy with relief and excitement, allof it so pure that I can barely see him through his insanity. “I heard you were in the city, but I had feared you would do something rash. I did not believe you were capable of going quietly.”
He doesn’t let me respond.
Dieter snaps his head to look at Otto. I don’t have the strength to move, even to follow his gaze, but I can feel Otto’s eyes on me, the heat of his attention.
He will give us away if he keeps looking at me like that.
My thoughts are disconnected, a thing outside myself, as my brother makes a satisfied grunt.
“Good work, Kapitän,” he says. “Where did you catch her?”
There is a pause. An almost indiscernible hitch in Otto’s throat.
“In the slums, sir,” he manages. A swallow, and he regains himself, his voice leveling—he reallyisskilled at deception, when he needs to be. “Just within the walls of the city.”
“Trying to flee Trier, were you?” Dieter turns back to me, but my eyes have fallen to the floor.
The cobblestones are covered in molded hay and excrement, yet I see people huddling all across them, this space packed with convicted witches. Will we even be able to move enough away from the far spot on the floor to avoid the explosion?
Wouldn’tthatjust be great: Otto and I do all of this, then inadvertently blow up these prisoners rather than save them. Myself included.
